 3. An unsavory interlude. It was a maiden aunt of Storky, who sent him both books. With the inscription, Two dearest Artie on his sixteenth birthday. It was MacTurk who ordered the Hippothecation, and it was Beetle, returned from Biddiford, who flung them on the windowsill of number five study with news that Bastable would advance but nine pence on the two. Eric called Little by Little, being almost as great a drug as St. Winifred's. And I don't think much you or aren't. We are nearly out of cartridges, too, Artie dear. Whereupon Storky rose up to grapple with him, but MacTurk sat on Storky's head, calling him a pure-minded boy. Till peace was declared, as they were grievously in arrears with a Latin prose. As it was a blazing July afternoon, and as they ought to have been at the house cricket match, they began to renew their acquaintance, intimate and unholy, with the volumes. Here we are, said MacTurk. Corporal punishment. Produced on Eric the worst effects. He burned, not with remorse or regret. Make note of that, Beetle. But with shame and violent indignation. He glared, unnaughty Eric. Let's get to where he goes in for a drink. Hold on half a shake. Here's another sample. The sixth, he says, is the palladium of all public schools. But this lot—Storky wrapped the gilded book—can't prevent fellows drinking and stealing and letting fags out of the window at night, and doing what they please. Golly, what we've missed, not going to St. Winifred's. I'm sorry to see any boys of my house taking so little interest in their matches. Mr. Prout could move very silently if he pleased, though that is no merit in the boy's eyes. He had flung open the study door without knocking another sin, and looked at them suspiciously. Very sorry indeed. I am to see you frousting in your studies. We've been out ever since dinner, sir, said McTurk wearily. One house matches just like another, and their ploy of that week happened to be rabbit-shooting with saloon-pistols. I can't see a ball when it's coming, sir, said Beetle. I've had my gig-lamps smashed at the nets till I got excused. I wasn't any good, even as a fag, then, sir. Tuck is probably your form, tuck and brewing. Why can't you three take any interest in the honour of your house? They had heard that phrase until they were wearied. The honour of the house was Prout's weak point, and they knew well how to flick him on the roar. If you order us to go down, sir, of course we'll go, said Storky, with maddening politeness. But Prout knew better than that. He'd tried the experiment once at a big match. When the three, self-isolated, stood to attention for half an hour, in full view of all the visitors, to whom fags, subsidised for that end, pointed them out as victims of Prout's tyranny. And Prout was a sensitive man. In the infinitely petty confederacies of the common room, King and McCrea, fellow housemasters, had borne it upon him, that by games and by games alone was salvation wrought. Boys neglected were boys lost. They must be disciplined. Left to himself. Prout would have made a sympathetic housemaster. But he was never so left. And with the devilish insight of youth, the boys knew to whom they were indebted for his zeal. Must we go down, sir? said McTurk. I don't want to order you to do what a right-thinking boy should do gladly. I'm sorry. And he lurched out with some hazy impression that he had sown good seed on poor ground. Now, what does he suppose is the use of that? said Beatle. Though he's cracked, King jaws him in the common room about not keeping us up to the mark, and McCrea burbles about discipline. An old heffy sits between them, sweating big drops. I heard oak, the common room butler, talking to Richards, Prout's house servant, about it down the basement the other day, when I went down to bag some bread, said Storky. What did oak say? demanded McTurk, throwing Eric into a corner. Oh, he said, They make more knives nor a nest full of jackdaws, and half of it, like we'd no ears in our heads that waited on them. They talk over all Prout, what he've done and left undone about his boys, and how there are boys be fine boys, and isn't be dumb bad. Well, oak talk like that, you know, and Richards got awfully rothy. He has a down on King for something or other, wonder why. Why, King talks about Prout in former mixed illusions, and all that. Only half the chaps are such asses they can't see what he's driving at. And do you remember what he said about the casual house last Tuesday? He meant us. They say he says perfectly beastly things to his own house, making fun of Prout's, said Beatle. Well, we didn't come here to mix up in their rows, McTurk said, Who'll bathe after call over? King's taking the cricket field, come on. Turkey seized his straw and led the way. They reached the sun-bisted pavilion over against the grey pebble ridge just before roll call, and, asking no questions, gathered from King's voice and manner that his house was on the road to victory. Bah-ha! said he, turning to show the light of his countenance. Here we have the ornaments of the casual house at last. You consider cricket beneath you, I believe. The crowd flanneled, sniggered. And from what I've seen this afternoon, I fancy many others of your household the same view. May I ask what you purpose to do with your noble selves till tea time? Going down to bathe, sir, said Storky. And wince this sudden zeal for kenyanness. There is nothing about you that particularly suggests it. Indeed, so far as I remember, I may be at fault, but a short time ago. Five years, sir, said Beatle hotly. King scowled. One of you was that thing called a water-funk. Yes, a water-funk. Now, do you wish to wash? It's well. Kenyanness never injured a boy or a house. We will proceed to business. And he addressed himself to the call-over-board. What a juice! Did you say anything to him for, Beatle? Said Bukterk angrily, as they strolled towards the big, open sea-baths. It wasn't fair, reminding me of being water-funk. My first term, too. Heaps of chaps are when they can't swim. Yes, you ass. But he saw he'd fetched you. You ought never to answer, King. But it wasn't fair, Storky. My hatch, you've been here six years, and you expect fairness, where you are a dithering idiot. A lot of King's boys, also bound for the baths, held them, beseeching them to wash for the honour of their house. That's what comes of King Jorin Messin. Those young animals wouldn't have thought of it, unless he'd put it in their heads. Now, they'll be funny about it for weeks, said Storky. Don't take any notice. The boys came nearer, shouting an appropriate word. At last they moved to Windward, ostentatiously holding their noses. That's pretty, said Beatle. They'll be zayna, how stinks next! When they returned from the baths, damp-headed, languid, and at peace with the world, Beatle's forecast came only too true. They were met in the corridor by a fag, a common lower-second fag, who, at arm's length, handed them a carefully wrapped piece of soap. They were the compliments of King's house. Hold on, said Storky, checking immediate attack. Who put you up to this, Nixon? Rattran White? Those were two leaders in King's house. Thank you. There's no answer. Oh, it's too seconding to have this kind of rot shoved on it to a chap. What's the sense of it? What's the fun of it? said MacTurk. People go on to the end of the term, though. Beatle wagged his head sorrowfully. He'd worn many jests, threadbare, on his own account. In a few days it became established legend of the school that Prout's house did not wash, and were therefore noisome. Mr. King was pleased to smile succulently in form when one of his boys drew aside from Beatle with certain gestures. But there seems to be some disability attaching to you, my Beatle, or else why should Burton major withdraw, so to speak, the hem of his garments? I confess I'm still in the dark. Will someone be good enough to enlighten me? Naturally he was enlightened by half the form. Extraordinary, most extraordinary. However, each house has its traditions, with which I would not for the world interfere. We have a prejudice in favour of washing. Go on, Beatle, from Juggerathamen. If you can, avoiding the more flagrant forms of guessing? Prout's house was furious, because McCraeer's and Hartrop's houses joined Kings to insult them. They called a house meeting after dinner, an excited and angry meeting of all so the prefects, whose dignity, though they sympathised, did not allow them to attend. They read ungrammatical resolutions and made speeches beginning, gentlemen, we have met upon this occasion, and ending with, It's a beastly shame, precisely as houses have done, since time and schools began. Number five study attended, with its usual air of bland patronage. At last, MacTurk, of the Lantern Jaws, delivered himself. Your jabber, and jaw, and burble, and that's about all you can do. What's the good of it? Kings' house lonely gloat because they've drawn you, and King'll gloat too. Besides, that resolution of Oren's is chock full of bad grammar, and King'll gloat over that. I thought you and Beatle would put it right, and we'd post it in the corridor, said the composer, meekly. Pasi julekone, I'm not going to meddle with the business eye, said Beatle. It's a gloat from Kings' house, Turkey's quite right. Well, then Storky then, Storky, puffed out his cheeks and squinted down his nose in the style of panerge, and all he said was, Oh, you abject burblers. Your three beastly scabs was the instant retort of democracy, and they went out amid execrations. This is piffling, said MacTurk. Let's get our sullies and go and shoot bunnies. Three saloon pistols with a supply of bulleted bridgecaps were stored in Storky's trunk, and this trunk was in their dormitory, and their dormitory was a three-bed attic one, opening out of a ten-bed establishment which in turn communicated with the great range of dormitories that ran practically from one end of the college to the other. Macrae's house lay next to Prouts, King's next to Macrae's, Hartrop's beyond that again. Carefully locked doors, divided house from house, but each house with its internal arrangements, the college had originally been a terrace of twelve large houses, was a replica of the next, one straight roof covering all. They found Storky's bed, drawn out from the wall to the left of the dormer window, and the latter end of Richard's protruding from a two-foot square covered in the wall. What's all this? I've never noticed it before. What are you trying to do, fatty? For then Bason's Master Corcoran, Richard's voice was hollow and muffled. They've been saving me trouble, yes. Looks like it, said MacTurk. Hi. You'll stick if you don't take care. Richard's backed, puffing. I couldn't reach him. Yes. Tessar Turncock, Mr. MacTurk. They've took and runned all the waterpipes, a story higher in the houses, runned them all along the anger the eaves, like, run them in last holidays. I can't reach the Turncock. Let me try, said Storky, diving into the aperture. Slippy to the left then, Master Corcoran. Slippy to the left. And feel in the dark. To the left, Storky wiggled, and saw a long line of lead pipe disappearing up a triangular tunnel, whose roof was the rafters and boarding of the college roof, and whose floor was sharp-edge joists and whose side was the rough studying of the lathen plaster wall under the dorma. Rummy's show. How far does it go? Ride along, Mr. Corcoran. Ride along from end to end. Runs under the anger the eaves. Have you reached the Stopcock yet, Mr. King? Gotten put in to save us from carrying water from downstairs to fill the basins. No place for a lusty man like old Richard. I'm too thick about to go ferretten. Thank you, Mr. Corcoran. The water squirted through the tap just inside the cupboard, and having filled the basins, the grateful Richards waddled away. The boys sat round-eyed on their beds, considering the possibilities of this trove. Two floors below them, they could hear the hum of the angry house, for nothing is so still as a dormitory in mid-afternoon of a mid-summer term. It's been papered over till now. McTurk examined the little door, if only we'd known before. I vote we go down and explore. No-one will come up this time of day. We didn't keep cave-y. They crawled in, stalky-leading, drew the door behind them, and on all fours embarked on a dark and dirty road, full of plaster, old shavings, and all the raffle that builders leave in the waste-room of a house. The passage was perhaps three feet wide, and except for the struggling light around the edges of the cupboards, that there was one to each dormer, almost pitchy-dark. Here's McRae's house, said Storky, his eye at the crack of the third cupboard. I can see Barnes's name on his trunk. Don't make such a row-beetle. We can get right to the end of the coal. Come on, we're in King's house now. I can see a bit of rat-trace-trunk. How these beastly boards hurt one's knees? They hurt his nails, scraping on plaster. There's the ceiling below. Look out. If we'd smashed that, the plaster had fallen down in the lower dormitory, said Beatle. Let's! whispered McTurk. And big collared first thing, not much. Why, I can shove my hand ever so far up between these boards. Storky thrust an arm to the elbow between the joists. No good staying here. My vote, we go back and talk it over. It's a crummy place. I must say I'm grateful to King for his waterworks. They crawled out, brushed one another clean, slid the saloon pistols down a trouser leg, and hurried forth to a deep and solitary differential lane, in whose flanks a boy might sometimes slay a young rabbit. They threw themselves down under the rank elder bushes, and began to think aloud. You know, said Storky at last, citing at a distant sparrow, we could hide our sallies in there like anything. Beatle snorted, choked and gurgled. He'd been silent since they left the dormitory. Did you ever read a book called The History of a House or something? I got it out of the library the other day. A French woman wrote it vile at somebody. But it's translated, you know, and it's very interesting. It tells you how a house is built. Well, if you're in a sweat to find out that, you can go down to the new cottages they're building for the Coast Guard. Boy hat I will. He felt in his pockets. Gimme tuppin' someone. Rot. Stay here. Don't mess about in the sun. Gimme tuppin's. I say, Beatle, you aren't stuffy about anything, are you? Said MacTurk, handing over the coppers. His tone was serious, for though Storky often and MacTurk occasionally maneuvered on his own account, Beatle had never been known to do so in the history of the Confederacy. No, I'm not, I'm thinking. Well, we'll come too, said Storky, with a general suspicion of his aides. Don't want you. Oh, leave him alone. He's been taken worse with a poem, said MacTurk. He'll go burbling down to the pebble ridge and spit it all up in the study when he comes back. But then why did he want the tuppin's, Turkey? He's getting too beastly independent. Hi, there's a bunny. No, it ain't, it's a cat, by Jove. You plug first. Twenty minutes later, a boy with a straw hat at the back of his head and his hands in his pockets. He was staring at workmen as they moved about a half-finished cottage. He produced some ferocious tobacco, and was passed from the forecourt to the interior, where he asked many questions. Well, let's have your beastly epic, said Turkey, as they burst into the study to find Beatle, deep in violet la douche and some drawings. We've had no end of a lark. Epic? What epic? I've been down to the Coast Guard. No, epic. Then we'll slay you, O Beatle. Said Storky, moving to the attack. You've got something up your sleeve. I know when you talk in that tone. Your Uncle Beatle, with an attempt to imitate Storky's war voice, is a great man. Oh, no, he jolly well isn't anything of the kind. You deceive yourself, Beatle. Scrag him, Turkey. A great man, Beatle gurgled from the floor. You are futile. Look out for my tie. Futile burblers. I am the great man. I gloat. Ouch, hear me. Beatle, ta-da. Storky dropped unreservedly on Beatle's chest. We love you, and you're a pite. If I ever said you were a dog-a-roo, I apologize. But you know as well as we do that you can't do anything by yourself without mucking it. Oh, I've got a notion. And you'll spoil the whole show if you don't tell your Uncle Storky. Coffee up, Ducky. We'll see what we can do. Notion, you fat impostor. I knew you had a notion when you went away. Turkey said it was a poem. Oh, he found out how houses are built. Let me get up. The floor joists of one room are the ceiling joists of the room below. That was a filthy technical. Well, the man told me. The floor is laid on top of those joists. Those boards on edge we crawled over. But the floor stops at the partition. Well, if you get behind a partition, same as you did in the attic, don't you see that you can shove anything you please under the floor between the floorboards and the laugh and plaster of the ceiling below. Look here, I've drawn it. He produced a rude sketch, sufficient to enlighten the allies. There is no part of the modern school curriculum that deals with architecture, and none of them had yet reflected whether floors and ceilings were hollow or solid. Outside his own immediate interests, the boy is as ignorant as the savage he so admires. But he has also the savage's resource. I see, said Storky. I shove my hand there, and then? And then, though you've been calling us stinkers, you know, we might shove something under, sulfur or something that's stunk pretty bad, and stink them out. I know it can be done somehow. I know it can be done somehow. Beatles eyes turned to Storky, handling the diagrams. Stinks, said Storky interrogatively. Then his face grew luminous with delight. By gum I've got it. Horrid stinks. Turkey! he leapt at the Irishman. This afternoon, just after Beatle went away, she's the very thing. Come to my arms, my beamish boy, Carole McTurk, and they fell into each other's arms, dancing. Oh, Fab just a-caloo-calay! She will, she will! Hold on, said Beatle. I don't understand. Dear man, it shall, though, Oh, artie, my poor soul-youth, Let us tell our darling Reggie about Pestiferous Stinkadors. Not glad to call her, but come on. I say, said Orrin, stiffly, as they fell into their places along the walls of the gymnasium. The house are going to hold another meeting. Hold away, then, Storky's mind was elsewhere. About you three this time? All right, give them my love. Here, sir, he tore down the corridor, gambling like kids at play, with bounds and side-starts, with caperings and convertings. They led the almost bursting Beatle to the rabbit lane. And, from under a pile of stones, dew forth the new-slane corpse of a cat. Then did Beatle see the inner meaning of what had gone before, and lifted up his voice in thanksgiving, for that the world held warriors so wise as Storky and Bcturk. Well, nourished old lady, ain't she? said Storky. How long do you suppose it'll take her to get a bit of a whiff in a confined space? Bit of a whiff? What a course, perhaps. Bit of a whiff? What a course, Brutua, said Bcturk. Can't a poor Pussycat get under King's dormitory floor to die, without your pursuing her with your foul innuendos? What did she die under the floor for? said Beatle, looking to the future. Oh, they won't worry about that when they find her, replied Storky. A cat may look at a king. Bcturk rolled down the bank at his own jest. Pussy, you don't know how useful you're going to be. Two, three, pure-souled, high-minded boys. They'll take up the floor for her, same as they did in number nine, when the rat croaked. Big Midsen. Hey, Big Midsen. You, oh Lord, I wish I could stop laughing, said Beatle. Stinks. Hi, Stinks, clammy ones. Bcturk gasped as he regained his place. And the exquisite humour of it brought them sliding down together in a tangle. It's all for the honour of the house, too. And they're holding another meeting on us, Storky panted. His knees in the ditch and his face in the long grass. Well, let's get the bullet out of her and hurry up. As soon as she's bedded out, the better. Between them, they did some grisly work with a penknife. Between them, asked Nott, who buttoned her to his bosom, they took up the corpse and hastened back, Storky arranging their plan of action at full draught. The afternoon sun, lying in broad patches on the bedrugs, saw three boys and an umbrella disappear into a dormitory wall. Five minutes later, they emerged, brushed themselves all over, washed their hands, combed their hair and descended. Are you sure you shoved her far enough under, said Bcturk suddenly. Hang it, man, I shoved her the full length of my arm and Beatle's brolly. That must be about six feet. She's bung in the middle of King's big, upper ten bedder. Eligible central situation, I call it. She'll stink out his chaps and heart-drops and macrae's. When she really begins to fume, I swear your Uncle Storky is a great man. Do you realise what a great man he is, Beatle? Well, I had the notion first, hadn't I? Only, you couldn't do it without your Uncle Storky, could you? They've been calling us stinkers for a week now, said Bcturk. Oh, who won't they catch it? Stinker, ya stinker! rang down the corridor. And she's there, said Storky, a hand on either boy's shoulder. She is there, getting ready to surprise him. Presently, she'll begin to whisper to him in their dreams, and she'll whiff, golly how she'll whiff, applied to me by thinking of it for two minutes. They went to their study in more or less of silence. There they began to laugh, laugh as only boys can. They laughed with their foreheads on the tables or on the floor, laughed at length, curled up over the backs of chairs, or clinging to a bookshelf, laughed themselves limp. And in the middle of it, Oren entered on behalf of the house. Don't mind us, Oren, sit down. You don't know how we respect and admire you. There's something about your pure, high, young forehead, full of the dreams of innocent boyhood that's no end fetching. It is indeed. The house sent me to give you this. He laid a folded sheet of paper on the table and retired with an awful front. It's a resolution. Oh, read it, someone. I'm too silly sick with laughing to see, said Beatle. Storky jerked it open with a precautionary sniff. Phew! Phew! Listen. The house noticed with the pain and contempt the attitude of indifference. How many Fs in indifference, Beatle? Two for a choice. Only one here. Adopted by the occupants of No. 5 Study in relation to the insults offered to Mr. Prout's house at the recent meeting in No. 12 Formrum, and the house hereby passed a vote of censure on the said study. That's all. And she bled all down my shirt, too, said Beatle. And I'm catty all over, said Bukterk. Oh, I washed twice. And I nearly broke Beatle's brolly plant in her where she would blossom. The situation was beyond speech, but not laughter. There was some attempt that night to demonstrate against the three in their dormitory. So they came forth. You see, Beatle began, swavily, as he loosened his braces. Their trouble with you is that you're a set of unthinking asses. You've got no more brains than sprinters. We've told you that heaps of times, haven't we? We won't give you the freedom you're a dormitory licking. You always jure at us as if you were prefects, cried one. Oh, no, you won't, said Storky, because you know that if you did, you'd get the worst of it sooner or later. We aren't in any hurry. We can afford to wait for our little revenges. You've made hallowed asses of yourselves, and just as soon as King gets hold of your precious, precious resolutions tomorrow, you'll find that out. If you aren't sick and sorry by tomorrow night, I'll, I'll eat my hat. But Or ever the Dinnabell rang the next day. Prouts were sadly aware of their error. King received stray members of that house with an exaggerated attitude of fear. Did they purpose to cause him to be dismissed from the college by unanimous resolution? What were their views concerning the government of the school that he might hasten to give effect to them? He would not offend them for worlds, but he feared, he sadly feared, that his own house, who did not pass resolutions, but washed, might somewhat deride. King was a happy man, and his house, basking in the favor of his smile, made that afternoon a long penance for the misled Prouts. And Prout himself, with a dull and lowering visage, tried to think out the rights and the wrongs of it all, only plunging deeper into bewilderment. Why should his house be called Stinkers? Truly it was a small thing, but he'd been trained to believe that straws show which way the wind blows, and there is no smoke without fire. He approached King in common room, with a sense of injustice. Her but King was pleased to be full of airy purseflyers that tied, and brilliantly danced dialectical rings around Prout. Now, said Storky at bedtime, making pilgrimage through the dormitories before the prefix came by, Now! What have you got to say for yourselves? Foster carton, finch, longbridge, marlin, bret. I heard you chaps catching it from King. He made hay of you, and all you could do was to wriggle and grin and say, Yes sir, and no sir, and oh sir, and please sir. You and your resolution. Oh, shanup, Storky. Not a bit of it. You're a gaudy lot of revolutionists, you are. You've made a sweet mass of it. Perhaps you'll have the decency to leave us alone next time. Here the house grew angry, and in many voices pointed out how this blunder would never have come to pass if number five study had helped them from the first. But you chaps are so beastly conceited, and you swaggered into the meeting as if we were a lot of idiots, growled our end of the resolution. That's precisely what you are. That's what we've been trying to hammer into your thick heads all this time, said Storky. Never mind, we'll forgive you. Cheer up. You can't help being asses, you know. And the enemy's flank deftly turned. Storky hopped into bed. That night was the first of sorrow among the jubilant kings. By some accident of underfloor draughts, the cat did not vex the dormitory beneath which she lay, but the next one to the right. Stealing upon the air rather as a pale blue sensation than as any poignant offence. But the mere adembration of an odour is enough for the sensitive nose and clean tongue of youth. Decency demands that we draw several carbolised sheets over what the dormitory said to Mr. King and what Mr. King replied. He was genuinely proud of his house and fastidious in all the concern their well-being. He came. He sniffed. He said things. Next morning a boy in that dormitory confided to his bosom friend, a fag of Macrae's, that there was trouble in their midst which King would feign keep secret. But Macrae's boy also had a bosom friend in prouts. A shock-headed fag of malignant disposition, who, when he'd wormed out the secret, told. Told it in a high-pitched treble that rang along the corridor like a bat's squeak. And they've been calling us stinkers all this week. Why, Helen Minor says they simply can't sleep in his dormitory for the stink. Come on! With one shout and with one cry Prout's juniors hurled themselves into the war. And through the interval between first and second lesson some fifty-twelve-year-olds were embroiled on the gravel outside King's windows to a tune whose like motif was the word stinker. Hucked to the minute, gun at sea, said Storky. They were in their study collecting books for second lesson, Latin with King. I thought his azure brow was a bit cloudy at prayers. She has come in, Sister Mary. She is... If they make such a row now, what will they do when she really begins to look up and take notice? Well, no vulgar epithet, Beetle. All we want is to keep out of this row like gentlemen. It is but a little faded flower and wears my horris. Oh, look here. I don't understand what she means by stinking out rat-traised dormitory first. We hold in under whites, didn't we? asked MacTurk with a wrinkled brow. Skittish little thing. She's romping a battle over the place, I suppose. My aunt. King will be a cheerful customer at second lesson. I haven't prepared my horris one little bit, either, said Beetle. Come on! They were outside the form-room door now. It was within five minutes of the bell, and King might arrive at any moment. Turkey elbowed into a cohort of scuffling fags, cut out Thornton Tertius, he that had been Harlan's bosom friend, and bat him till his tail. It was a simple one, interrupted by tears. Many of King's house had already battered him for the libel. Oh, it's nothing, MacTurk cried. He says that King's house stinks, that's all. Stale, Storky shouted. We knew that years ago, and if we didn't choose to run about shouting stinker, we've got some manners, if they haven't. Catch a fag, Turkey, and make sure of it. Turkey's long arm, closed on a hurried and anxious ornament to the lower second. Oh, MacTurk, please let me go. I don't stink, I swear I don't. A guilty conscience, cried Beetle. Who said you did? What do you make of it? Storky punted the small boy into Beetle's arms. He does, though. I think it's leprosy or thrush. Perhaps it's both. Take it away. Indeed, Master Beetle. King generally came to the house door for a minute or two as the bell rang. We are vastly indebted to you for your diagnosis, which seems to reflect almost as much credit on the natural unwholesomeness of your mind, as it does on your pitiful ignorance of the diseases of which you discourse so glibly. We will, however, test your knowledge in other directions. That was a merry lesson. But in his haste to scarify Beetle, King clean neglected to give him an imposition. And since at the same time he supplied him with many priceless adjectives for later use, Beetle was well content, and applied himself most seriously throughout third lesson, algebra with a little heart-top, to composing a poem, entitled The Lazar House. After dinner, King took his house to bathe in the sea off the pebble ridge. It was an old promise, but he wished he could have evaded it, for all prouds lined up by the fivescourt, and cheered with intention. In his absence, not less than half the school invaded the infected dormitory to draw their own conclusions. The cat had gained in the last twelve hours, but a battlefield of the fifth day could not have been so flamboyant as the spies reported. My word, she is doing herself proud, said Storky. Did you ever smell anything like it? And she isn't under white dormitory at all yet. But she will be, give her a time, said Beetle. She'll twine like a giddy honeysuckle. What howling laseroids they are! No house is justified in making itself a stench in the nostrils of decent, high-minded, pure-sulled boys. Do you burn with remorse and regret? said MacTurk, as they hastened to meet the house coming up from the sea. A king had deserted it, so speech was unfettered. Round its front played a crowd of skirmishers, all houses mixed up, flying reforming shrieking insults. On its tortured flanks marked the hoplites, seniors hurling jests one after another, simple and primitive jests of the Stone Age. To these the three added themselves, dispassionately, with the air of aloofness, almost sadly. And they look all right too, said Storky. It can't be rat-tray, can it? Rat-tray? No answer. Rat-tray dear! He seems to be stuffy about something or other. Look here, old man, we don't bear any malice about your sending that soap to us last week, do we? Be cheerful, rat. You can live this down all right. I dare say it's only a few fags. Your house is so beastly slack, though. You aren't going back to the house, are you? said MacTurk. The victims desired nothing better. You have simply no conception of the recup there. Of course, frowsen as you do, you wouldn't notice it. But after this nice wash and clean fresh air, even you'd be upset. Much better camp on the burrows. We'll get you some straw, shall we? The house hurried in to the tune of John Brown's body, sung by loving schoolmates, and barricaded themselves in their form room. Straight away, Storky chalked up a large cross with, Lord have mercy on us on the door, and left King to find it. The wind shifted that night, and wafted a carrion reek into Macrae's dormitories, so the boys in nightgowns pounded on the locked door between the houses, entreating kings to wash. Number five study went to second lesson, with not more than half a pound of camp for a piece in their clothing, and King, too wary to ask for explanations, gibbered a while and hurled them forth. So Beetle finished yet another poem at peace in his study. They're using carbolec now, Malpas told me, said Storky. The king thinks it's the drains. She'll need a lot of carbolec, said MacTurk. No harm tried, I suppose, it'll keep King out of mischief. I swear I thought he was going to kill me when I sniffed just now. He didn't mind Burton Major sniffing at me the other day, though. He never stopped Alexander howling stinker into our form room before we doctored him. He just grinned, said Storky. What was he thrusting over you for, Beetle? Arr, that was my subtle jade, I had him on toast. You know how he always jaws about the learned Lipsius? Who, at the age of four? That chap, said MacTurk. Yes, but every year as I've written a poem, well, just as I was sitting down, I whispered, How was our learned Lipsius to Burton Major? I'll butt grin like an owl. He didn't know what I was driving at, but King jolly well did. That was really why he hovers out. Ain't you grateful? Now, shut up. I'm going to write the ballad of the learned Lipsius. Keep clear of anything coarse, then, said Storky. I shouldn't like to be coarse on this happy occasion. Not for worlds. What rhymes with the stenches, someone? In common room at lunch. King discoursed acridly to prouds of boys with purient minds who perverted their few and baleful talents, to sap discipline and corrupt their equals, to deal in foul imagery and destroy reverence. But you didn't seem to consider this when your house called us our stinkers. If you hadn't assured me that you never interfere with another man's house, I should almost believe that it was a few casual remarks of yours that started all this nonsense. Proud had endured much, for King always took his temper to meals. You spoke to Beetle yourself, didn't you? Something about not bathing and being a water-funk? The school chaplain put in. I was scoring in the pavilion that day. I may have, gestingly. I really don't pretend to remember every remark I let fall among small boys, and full well I know that Beetle has no feelings to be hurt. Maybe. But he or they, it comes to the same thing, have a fiend's own lack of discovering a man's weak place. I confess I'd rather go out of my way to conciliate number five study. It may be soft, but so far I believe I'm the only man here they haven't maddened by their well-attentions. That is all beside the point. I flatter myself. I can deal with them alone as occasion arises. But if they feel themselves morally supported by those who should wield an absolute and open-handed justice, then I say that my lot is indeed a hard one. Of all things I detest, I admit that anything verging on disloyalty among ourselves is the first. The common room looked at one another out of the corner of their eyes, and Prout blushed. By tonight, absolutely. He said, In fact, I own that I personally object to all three of them. It's not fair, therefore, too. How long do you propose to allow it? said King. Oh, but surely, said McCray, discerning his usual ally, the blame, if there be any, rests with you, King. You can't help them responsible for the, prefer the good old Anglo-Saxon, I believe, stink in your house? My boys are complaining of it now. What can you expect? You know what boys are. Naturally, take advantage of what is, to them, a heaven-sent opportunity. Said little heart-trob. What is the trouble with your dormitory's king? Mr. King explained that as he had made it the one rule of his life, never to interfere with another man's house. So he expected not to be too patently interfered with. They might be interested to learn, hear the chaplain heaved a weary sigh, that he had taken all steps that in his poor judgment would meet the needs of the case. Nay, further, he had himself expended with no thought of reimbursement, sums, the amount of which he would not specify on disinfectants. This he had done because he knew by bitter, by most bitter experience, that the management of the college was slack, dilatory and inefficient. He might even add almost as slack as the administration of certain houses, which now thought fit to sit in judgment on his actions. With a short summary of his scholastic career, and a praisey of his qualifications, including his degrees, he withdrew, slamming the door. Hey, ho! said the chaplain. Ours is a dwarfing life, a belittling life, my brethren. God help all schoolmasters they need it. I don't like the boys I own, proud to dug viciously with his fork into the tablecloth. But I don't pretend to be a strong man, as you know. But I confess I can't see any reason why I should take steps against Storky and the others, because King happens to be annoyed by, by, by falling in the pit he's digged, said little heart-trop. Suddenly not proud. No one accuses you of setting one house against another through sheer idleness. A belittling life, a belittling life, the chaplain rose. I go to correct French exercises. By dinner King will have scored off some unlucky child of thirteen. He will repeat to us every word of his brilliant repartees, and all will be well. But what about those three? Are they so purient-minded? Nonsense, said little heart-trop. If you thought for a minute, Prout, you would see the precocious flow of fetid imagery that King complains of is borrowed wholesale from King. He nursed the pinion that impelled the steel. Naturally he does not approve. Come into the smoking-room for a minute. It isn't fair to listen to boys, it isn't fair to listen to boys, but they should now be rubbing it into King's house outside. Little things, please, little minds. The dingy den off the common room was never used for anything except gowns. Its windows were ground-glass. One could not see out of it, but one could hear almost every word on the gravel outside. A light and wary footstep came up from number five. Rattray! In a subdued voice, Rattray's study fronted that way. Do you know if Mr. King is anywhere about? I've got a— McTurk discreetly left the end of the sentence open. No, he's gone out, said Rattray, unguardedly. Ah! The learned Lipsius is airing himself, is he? His royal highness has gone to fumigate. McTurk climbed on the railings, where he held forth like a never-wearyed rook. Now, in all the call, there was no stink like the stink of King's house, for it stank vehemently, and none knew what to make of it. Save King! And he washed the fags, privatim, etseriatim, in the fish-pools of Hespon. He washed them with an apron about his loins. Shut up, you mad Irishman! There was the sound of a golf-ball spurting up gravel. It's no good getting rothy, Rattray. We've come to jape with you. Come on, Beatle. They're all at home. You can wind them. Where is Pomposo's stinker door? It isn't safe for a pure-sold, high-minded boy to be seen round his house these days. Gone out, has he? Never mind. I'll do the best I can, Rattray. I'm in local parenches just now. And for you, Prout, whispered McCray. For this was Mr. Prout's pet phrase. I have a few words to impart to you, my young friend. We will discourse together for a while. Here, the listening Prout spluttered. Beatle, in a strained voice, had chosen a favorite gambit of kings. I repeat, Master Rattray, we will confer. And the matter of our discourse shall not be stinks, for that is a loathsome and obscene word. We will, with your good leave, granted I trust, Master Rattray, granted I trust, study this, this scabrous upheaval of latent demoralization. What impresses me most is not so much the blatant indecency with which you swagger about under your load of putrescence. You must imagine this discourse punctuated with golf balls. But old Rattray was ever a bad shot. Has the cynical immorality with which you revel in your abhorrent aromas far be it from me to interfere in another's house? Good Lord, said Prout, but this is king. Line for line, letter for letter, listen, said little heart-trop. But to say that you stink, as certain lewd fellows of the base are sought have, is to say nothing, less than nothing, in the absence of your beloved housemaster, for whom no one has a higher regard than myself. I will, if you allow me, explain the grossness, the unparalleled enormity, the appalling fitter of the stenches. I believe in the good old Anglo-Saxon word, stenches, sir, with which you have seen fit to infect your house. Oh, bother, I've forgotten the rest, but it was very beautiful. Aren't you grateful to us for laboring with you in this way, Rattray? Lots of jabs should have never taken the trouble. But we're grateful, Rattray. Yes, we're horrid grateful, grunted MacTurk. We don't forget that, soap. We're polite. Why ain't you polite, Ratt? Hello? Storky canted up his cap over one eye. Exhaught in the whiffers, eh? I'm afraid they're too far gone to repent. Rattray, white, perone, malpass. No answer. This is distressing. This is truly distressing. Bring out your dead, you glandered lepers. You think you're so funny, don't you, said Rattray? Stung from his dignity at last. It's only a rat or something under the floor. We're going to have it up tomorrow. Don't try to shuffle it off on a poor, dumb animal, and dead, too, I loathe prevarication upon my soul, Rattray. Hold on. The heart-toffles never said upon my soul in his little life, said Beatle, critically. Ah, said Proud, the little heart-trop. Upon my word, sir, I expected better things of you, Rattray. Why can you not own up to your own misdeeds like a man? Have I ever shown any lack of confidence in you? It's not brutality, moment, little heart-trop, as though answering a question no one had asked. It's boy, only boy. And this was the house. Storky changed from a pecking, fluttering voice to tragic earnestness. This was the, the open cesspit that dared to call us stinkers. And now, and now it tries to shelter itself behind a dead rat. You annoy me, Rattray. You disgust me. You irritate me unspeakably. Thank heavens, I'm a man of equitable temper. This is to your address, McCray, said Proud. And I fear so, I fear so. More I should scarcely be able to contain myself before your mocking visage. Gavey. In an undertone, Beetle had spied King sailing down the corridor. And what may you be doing here, my little friends? The housemaster began. I had a fleeting notion, correct me if I'm wrong. The listeners with one accord choked. That if I found you outside my house, I should visit you with dire pains and penalties. We were just going for a walk, sir, said Beetle. And you stopped to speak to Rattray en route. Yes, sir. Oh, we've been throwing golf balls, said Rattray, coming out of the study. Oh, Ratt is more of a diplomat than I thought. So far, he is strictly within the truth, said little Hartrop. Observe the ethics of it, Proud. Oh, you were sporting with them, were you? I must say, I do not envy you, your choice of associates. I fancy they might have been engaged in some of the purian discourse, with which they have been so disgustingly free of late. I should strongly advise you to direct your steps most carefully in the future. Pick up those golf balls, he passed on. The next day, Richards, who had been a carpenter in the navy, and whom odd jobs were confided, was ordered to take up the dormitory floor, for Mr. King held that something must have died there. We need not neglect all our work for a trumpery incident of this nature. Though I am quite aware that little things please little minds, yes, I have decreed the boards be taken up after lunch under Richards' auspices. I have no doubt it will be vastly interesting to a certain type of so-called intellect, but any boy of my house or another's found on the dormitory stairs will ipso facto render himself liable to three hundred lines. The boys did not collect on the stairs, but most of them waited outside King's. Richards had been bound to cry the news from the attic window, and if possible to exhibit the corpse. "'Tis a cat! A dead cat!" Richards' face showed purple at the window. He'd been in the chamber of death and on his knees for some time. "'Cat be blowed!' cried Buk-Turk. "'It's a dead fag left over from the last term.' "'Three cheers for King's dead fag!' they cheered lustily. "'Show it, show it! Let's give a squint at it!' yelled the juniors. "'Give it to the bug-hunters!' This was the natural history of society. And the cat looked at the king and died of it. "'Hush, yey! Meow! Meow! Fsst!' were some of the cries that followed. Again Richards appeared. "'She's been,' he checked himself suddenly. "'Dead a long time!' the school roared. "'Well, come on out for a walk,' said Storky in a well-chosen pause. "'It's all very disgusting. I do hope the Lazar house won't do it again.' "'Do what?' a King's boy cried furiously. "'Killer! Pour innocent cat every time you want to get off washing. "'It's awfully hard to distinguish between you as it is. "'I prefer the cat, I must say. "'She isn't quite so whiff. "'What are you going to do, Beatle?' "'Je vais gloater. "'Je vais gloater. Toulou bless it afternoon. "'Jamais j'ai gloater comme je gloaterai aujourd'hui. "'Nous banquerons aux bunkers.' "'And it seemed good to them, so to do.' "'Down in the basement, where the gas flickers and the boots stand in racks. "'Richards,' amid his blacking brushes, held forth to oak of the common room. "'Gumbly of the dining halls, and fair Lina of the laundry. "'Yes, her were in a shocking state and condition. "'Her nigh made me sick, I tell ye. "'But I routed a note. I routed a note, and I made all ships safe. "'Though I smelt like the bilges. "'Her died mouse in, I reckon, poor thing,' said Lina. "'Then her mouse different to any cat of God's word, Lina. "'I up with a top-board. "'And she were lying on her back, and I turned in a hoover with a broom-handle. "'And was her back was all covered with plaster from Twix the Lathen. "'Yes, I tell ye. "'And under her head, there lay, like, so as to say, a little pillow of plaster, "'drove up in front of her by raisin of her sliding along in her back. "'No cat never went mousing on her back, Lina. "'Someone had shoved her along right underneath, so far as they could shoven. "'Cats don't make they selves pillows for to die on. "'Shoved along, she were. "'And she was settin' for to be coal-like. "'Oh, you're so clever to live, Fatty. "'Yo, go get wed and taught some sense,' said Lina, the affianced of Gumbly. "'Lound a little for I ever some maidens was born. "'Served in the Queen's Navy, I have. "'Where are you taught to use your eyes? "'You go and tend your own business, Lina. "'Do you mean what you've been telling us?' said Oak. "'Ask me no questions, and I'll give you no lies. "'Bullet hole clean through the side from side. "'And two heart-ribs broke like the withies. "'I see'd them when I turned an' over. "'They're clever. "'Oh, they're clever, but they're not too clever for all richards. "'Twas on the born tip of my tongue to tell, too. "'But he said there's never wash'd he did. "'Ladies, dumb boy, he's called a stinker as he did. "'Sarvan, don't well write, I say.' Richard spat on a fresh boot, and fell to his work. Chuckling. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of Storky and Co. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tim Bulkeley of BigBible.org. 4. The Impressionists They had dropped into the chaplain's study for a Saturday night's smoke. All four housemasters, and the three brahas and the one cigar, wreaking in amity, proved the Reverend John Gillett's good generalship. Since the discovery of the cat, King had been too ready to see a front when none was meant, and the Reverend John, buffer state and general confident, had worked for a week to bring about a good understanding. He was fat, clean-shaven, except for a big moustache, of an imperturbable good temper, and those who loved him least said, a guileful Jesuit. He smiled benignly upon his handiwork, for sorely tried men, talking without very much malice. Now remember, he said, when the conversation turned that way, I impute nothing. But every time that anyone has taken direct steps against number five study, the issue has been more or less humiliating to the taker. I can't admit that. I pulverize the egregious beetle daily if his soul's good, and the others with him, said King. Well, take your own case, King. Go back a couple of years. Do you remember when Prout and you were on their track for hunting and trespass, wasn't it? Have you forgotten Colonel Dabney? The others laughed. King did not care to be reminded of his career as a poacher. That was one instance. Again, when you had rooms below them, I always said that was entering the lion's den. You turned them out. For making disgusting noises, surely, Gillet, you don't excuse all I say is that you turned them out. That same evening your study was wrecked. By rabbit's eggs, most beastly drunk from the road, said King. What is that? Reverend John went on. Lastly, they conceived all aspersions are cast upon their personal cleanliness, the most delicate matter with all boys. Very good. Observe how, in each case, the punishment fits the crime. A week after your house calls them stinkers, King, your house is, not to put too fine a point on it, stunk out by a dead cat, who chooses to die in the one spot where she can annoy you most. Again, the long arm of coincidence. Summa, you accuse them of trespass. Through some absurd chain of circumstances, they may or may not be at the other end of it. You and Prout are made to appear as trespassers. You evict them. For a time, your study is made untenable. I have drawn the parallel in the last case. Well? As she was under the centre of white dormitory, said King, there are double floorboards there to deaden noise. No boy, even in my house, could possibly have pried up the boards without leaving some trace, and rabbit's eggs was phenomenally drunk that other night. They are singularly favoured by fortune. That's all I have ever said. Personally, I like them immensely, and I believe I have a little of their confidence. I confess I like being called Padre. They are at peace with me. Consequently, I am not treated to bogus confessions of theft. You mean Mason's case? Said Prout heavily. That always struck me as particularly scandalous. I thought the hedge should have taken up the matter more thoroughly. Mason may be misguided, but at least he is thoroughly sincere and means well. I confess I cannot agree with you, Prout, to the Reverend John. He jumped at some silly tale of theft on their part, accepted another boy's evidence, without so far as I can see any inquiry, and frankly, I think he deserved all he got. They deliberately outraged Mason's best feelings, said Prout. A word to me on their part would have saved the whole thing, but they preferred to lure him on, to play on his ignorance of their characters. That may be, said King, but I don't like Mason. I dislike him for the very reason that Prout advances to his credit. He means well. Our criminal tradition is not theft. Myself, at least, said little heart-trop. For the head of a house that raided seven-head of cattle from the innocent pot-walloppers of Northam. Isn't that rather a sweeping statement? Said McCray. Precisely so, said heart-top unabashed. That, with gate-lifting and little poaching and hawk-hunting on the cliffs, is our salvation. It does us far more harm as a school-propagant. Then any hushed-up scandal could? Quite so. Our reputation among the farmers is most unsavory, but I would much sooner deal with any amount of ingenious crime of that nature than some other offences. They may be all right, but they are unboylike, abnormal, and in my opinion unsound. Prout insisted. The moral effect of their performances must pave the way for greater harm. It makes me doubtful how to deal with them. I might separate them. You might, of course. But they have gone up to school together for six years. I shouldn't care to do it, said McCray. They use the editorial we, said King, irrelevantly. It annoys me. Where's your prose, Corcoran? Well, sir, we haven't quite done it yet. We'll bring it in a minute, and so on. And the same with the others. There is great virtue in that we, said the heart-top. You know I take them for trig. McTurk may have some conception of the meaning of it, but Beetle is as the brutes that perish about signs and cosines. He copies sincerely from Storky, who positively rejoices in mathematics. Why don't you stop it? said Prout. Now it writes itself at the exams. Then Beetle shows up blank sheets, and trusts to his English to save him from a fall. I fancy he spends most of his time with me in writing verse. I wished heaven he would transfer a little of his energy in that direction to elegiise. King jerked himself upright. He is, with the single exception of Storky, the very vilest manufacturer of barbarous hexameters that I have ever dealt with. Though the work is combined in that study, said the chaplain. The Storky does the mathematics, McTurk the Latin, and Beetle attends to their English and French. At least when he was in the sick house last month, malingering, Prout interjected. Quite possibly. I found a very distinct falling off in their Romanda-Jean-en-Pauvre translations. I think it's profoundly immoral, said Prout. I've always been opposed to the study system. It would be hard to find any study where the boys don't help each other, but in number five the thing has probably been reduced to a system, said little Hartop. They have a system in most things. Oh, they confess as much, said the Reverend John. I've seen McTurk being hounded up the stairs to elegiise the elegi in a courtyard, while Beetle and Storky went punt about. Mith amounts to systematic cribbing, said Prout, his voice growing deeper and deeper. No such thing, little Hartop returned. You can't teach the cow of the violin. In intention it is cribbing. But we spoke under the seal of the confessional, didn't we? said the Reverend John. You say you heard them arranging their work in this way, Gillet? Prout persisted. Oh, good heavens, don't take me as Queen's evidence, my dear fellow. Hartop is equally incriminated. If they ever found out that I'd sneaked, our relations would suffer and I value them. I think your attitude in this matter is weak, said Prout, looking round for support. It would really be better to break up the study for a while, wouldn't it? Or break it up by all means, Sir McCray. We shall see then if Gillet's theory holds water. Be wise, Prout, leave them alone, or calamity will overtake you. And what is much more important, they will be annoyed with me. I'm too fat, alas, to be worried by bad boys. Where are you going? Nonsense, they would not dare. But I am going to think this out, said Prout. It needs thought. In intention they cribbed. And I must think out my duty. He's perfectly capable of putting the boys on their honor. It's I that am the fool. The Reverend John looked round remorsefully. Never again will I forget that a master is not a man. Mark my words, said the Reverend John, there will be trouble. But by the yellow tiber was tumult and a fright. Out of the blue sky, they were still rejoicing over the cat-war, Mr. Prout had dropped into number five, read them a lecture on the enormity of cribbing, and bidden them returned to the formrooms on Monday. They had raged, solo and chorus, all through the peaceful sabbath. For their sin was more or less the daily practice of all the studies. What's the good of cursing, said Storky at last? We're all in the same boat. We've got to go back and consult with the house. A locker in the formroom and a seat at prep in number twelve. He looked regretfully round the cosy study which MacTurk, their leader in matters of art, had decorated with a dado, a stencil, and cretine hangings. Yes. Huffy lurch into the formrooms like a frowsy old retriever. To see if we aren't up to something. You know he never leaves his house alone these days, said MacTurk. Oh, it will be giddy. Why, he aren't you down watching the cricket? I like a robust, healthy boy. You mustn't froust in a formroom. Why don't you take an interest in your house? Yah! quoted Beatle. Yes. Why don't we? Let's. We'll take an interest in the house. We'll take no end of interest in the house. He hasn't had us in the formroom for a year. We've learned a lot since then. Oh, we'll make it a beautiful house before we're done. Remember that chap in Eric, or St. Winifred's, Belial somebody? I'm going to be Belial, said Storky, with an ensnaring grin. Right, oh! said Beatle. And I'll be Mammon. I'll lend money at usury. That's what they do at all schools, according to the B.O.P. Penny, a week on a shilling. That'll startle Huffy's weak intellect. You can be Lucifer, Turkey. Oh, what have I got to do? MacTurk also smiled. Had conspiracies, and cabals, and boycotts. Going for that stealthy intrigue that Huffy's always talking about? Come on. The house received them on their fall, with a mixture of jest and sympathy, always extended to boys turned out of their study. The normal luftness of the three made them more interesting. Quite like old times, ain't it? Storky selected a locker and flung in his books. We've come to sport with you, my young friends, for a while, because our beloved housemaster has hope us out of our diggins. Save you, jolly well, right, said Oren, you crebers. This will never do, said Storky. We can't maintain our giddy prestige, Oren, dear. If you make these remarks, they wrap themselves lovingly about the boy, thrust him to the open window, and drew down the sash to the nape of his neck. With an equal swiftness, they tied his thumbs together behind his back, with a piece of twine, and then, because he kicked furiously, removed his shoes. There, Mr. Prout happened to find him a few minutes later, guillotined and helpless, surrounded by a convulsed crowd who would not assist. Storky, in an upper former-room, had gathered himself allies against vengeance. Oren presently tore up at the head of a boarding-party, and the former-room grew one fog of dust through which boys wrestled, stamped, shouted, and yelled. A desk was carried away in a tumult, a lot of warriors reeled into and split a door-panel. A window was broken, a gas-jet fell. Under cover of the confusion, the three escaped to the corridor. Wents they called in, and sent up passers-by to the fray. Rescue kings, kings, kings! Number twelve former-room, rescue prouts, prouts! Rescue macrae, rescue heart-tops! The juniors hurried out like bees are swarm, asking no questions, clattered up the staircase, and added themselves to the embroilment. Not bad for a first evening's work, said Storky, rearranging his collar. I, fancy-prout, will be somewhat annoyed. We better establish an alibi. So they sat on Mr. King's railings until prep. You see, quoth Storky, as they strolled up to prep, with the ignoble herd. If you get the houses well mixed up in a scuffling, it's even better that some ass will start a real row. Hello, Warren! You look rather metagrobulised. It was all your fault, you beast! You started it. We've got two hundred lines of peace, and heavy is looking for you. Just see what that swine malpasted to my eye. I like your saying we started it. Who called us cribbers? Can't your infant mind connect cause and effect yet? Someday you'll find out that it don't pay to jest with number five. Where is that shilling you owe me? said Beetle, suddenly. Storky could not see proud behind him, but returned the lead without a quaver. By only owed you nine pence, you old usurer. You've forgotten the interest, said MacTurk. I hate me a week for a per bob, is Beetle's charge. You must be beastly rich, Beetle. Well, Beetle lent me six pence. Storky came to a full stop, and made as to work it out on his fingers. Six pence on the nineteenth, didn't he? Yes, but you've forgotten. You've paid no interest on the other bob, the one I lent you before. That you took my watch as security. The game was developing itself almost automatically. Never a mind, pay me my interest, or I'll charge you interest on interest. Remember, I've got your note of hand, shouted Beetle. You're a cold-bullied Jew, Storky groaned. Hush, said MacTurk, very loudly indeed, and started as proud came upon them. I didn't see you in that disgraceful affair in the form-room just now, said he. What, sir? Oh, we're just come up from Mr. King, said Storky. Ah, please, sir, what am I to do about prep? They've broken the desk you told me to sit at, and the form's just swimming, we think. Find another seat, find another seat. Do you expect me to dry nurse you? I wish to know whether you're in the habit of advancing money to your associates, Beetle. No, sir. None of the general rules, sir. It's a most reprehensible habit. I thought that my house, at least, would be free of it. Even with my opinion of you, I hardly thought it was one of your vices. There is no harm in lending money, sir, is there? I am not going to bandy words with you about your notions of morality. How much have you lent, Corkrun? I—I don't quite know, said Beetle. It's difficult to improvise a going concern on the spur of a minute. Are you seem certain enough just now? I think it's to an forpence, said MacTurk, with a glance of cold scorn at Beetle. In the hopelessly involved finances of the study, there was just that sum to which both MacTurk and Beetle laid claim, as their share in the pledging of Storky's second best Sunday trousers. But Storky had maintained for two terms that the money was his commission for effecting the pawn, and had, of course, spent it on a study brew. I understand this, then. You are not to continue your operations as a moneylender. To an forpence, you said, Corkrun? Storky said nothing, and continued to do so. Your influence for evil is quite strong enough without buying a hold over your companions. He felt in his pockets, and, oh joy, produced a florin and forpence. Bring me what you call Corkrun's note of hand, and be thankful that I do not carry the matter any further. The money is stopped from your pocket money, Corkrun. The receipt to my study at once. Little they cared. To an forpence in a lump is worth six weekly sixpences, any hungry day of the week. But what the deuce is a note of hand, said Beetle. I only read about it in the book. Well, now you've jolly well got to make one, said Storky. Yes, but our ink don't turn black till next day. Suppose you'll spot that, not him. He's too worried, said MacTurk. Sign your name. On a bit of info paper, Storky, and write, I owe you two and fourpence. Aren't you grateful to me for getting that out of Prout? Storky had never have paid. Why you ass? Mechanically, Beetle had handed over the money to Storky as treasurer of the study. The custom of years is not likely broken. In return for the document, Prout expounded to Beetle the enormity of money lending, which like everything except compulsory cricket, corrupted houses and destroyed good feeling among boys, made youth cold and calculating, and opened the door to all evil. Finally, did Beetle know of any other cases? If so, it was his duty, as proof of repentance, to let his housemaster know. No names need be mentioned. Beetle did not know. But at least he was not quite sure of, sir. How could he give evidence against his friends? The house might, of course. Here he feigned an anguished delicacy. Be full of it. He was not in a position to say. He had not met with any open competition in his trade, about if Mr. Prout considered it a matter that affected the honour of the house. Mr. Prout did consider it precisely that. Perhaps the house prefect would be better. He spun it out till halfway through prep. And, said the amateur Shylock, returning to the form room and dropping at Storky's side. If he don't think the house is putrid with it, I'm several Dutchman. That's all. I've been to Mr. Prout's study, sir, this to the prepmaster. He said I could sit where I like, sir. Oh, he's just trickling with emotion. Yes, sir. I'm only asking Cochrane to let me have a dip of his ink. After prayers on the road to the dormitories, Harrison and Cray, senior house prefect, zealous in their office, waylaid them with great anger. What have you been doing with Heffie this time, Beetle? He's been jarring us all evening. What has his serene transparency been vexing you for? said MacTurk. About Beetle lending money to Storky began, Harrison, and then Beetle went and told him that there was any amount of money lending in the house. No, you don't, said Beetle, sitting in a boat basket. That's just what I didn't tell him. I spoke the giddy truth. He asked me if there was much of it in the house, and I said I didn't know. He thinks you're a set of filthy shylocks, said MacTurk. It's just as well for you. He don't think you're burglars. You know he never lets an ocean out of his conscientious old head. Well-meaning, man. Did it all for the best? Storky curled gracefully round the stair-rail. Head in a drain-pipe, full confession in the left boot. Bad for the honour of the house? Very. Shut up, said Harrison. You chaps always behave as if you were drawing us when we come to draw you. You're a lot too cheeky, said Cray. Aye. Don't quite see where cheek comes into it except on your part, in interfering with a private matter between me and Beetle, after it has been settled by Prout. Storky winked cheerfully at the others. That's the worst of clever little swats, said MacTurk, addressing the gas. They get made prefects before they have any tact, and then they annoy chaps who could really help them to look after the honour of the house. We won't trouble you to do that, said Cray, hotly. Then why are you badgering us for? Said Beetle. On your own showing you've been so beastly slack, looking after the house, that Prout believes it's a nest of money lenders. I've told him that I've lent money to Storky and no one else. I don't know whether he believes me, but that finishes my case. The rest is your business. Now we've found out, Storky's voice rose, that there is apparently an organised conspiracy throughout the house. For what we know, the fags may be lending and borrowing far beyond their means. We aren't responsible for it. We are only rank and file. Are you surprised we don't wish to associate with the house? Said MacTurk with dignity. We've kept ourselves to ourselves in our study till we were turned out. And now we find ourselves let in for this sort of thing. It's simply disgraceful. Then you hector and bully rag us on the stairs, said Storky, about matters that are your business entirely. You know we aren't prefects. You threatened us with a prefect licking just now, said Beetle. Boldly inventing, as he saw the bewilderment in the faces of the enemy, and if you expect you'll be gaining anything from us by way of approachiness, you're jolly well mistaken. That's all, good night. They clattered upstairs, injured virtue on every inch of their backs. But what the dickens have we done, said Harrison, amazingly, to Cray. I don't know, only it always happens that way when one has anything to do with them. They're so beastly plausible. And Mr. Prout called the good boys into his study anew, and succeeded in sinking both his and their innocent minds, ten fathoms deeper, in blindfolded bedasement. He spoke of steps and measures, of tone and loyalty in the house and to the house, and urged them to take up the matter tactfully. So they demanded of Beetle whether he had any connection with any other establishment. Beetle promptly went to his house-master and wished to know by what right Harrison McCray had reopened a matter already settled between him and his house-master. In injured innocence, no boy excelled Beetle. Then it occurred to Prout that he might have been unfair to the culprit, who had not striven to deny or palliate his offence. He sent for Harrison and Cray, representing them very gently, for the tone they had adopted to the repentant sinner. And when they returned to their study they used the language of despair. They then made headlong inquisition through the house, driving the fags to the edge of hysterics and unearthing with tremendous pomp and parade, the natural and inevitable system of small loans that prevails among small boys. You see, Harrison, Thornton Minor lent me a penny last Saturday because I was fine for breaking the window, and I spent it at Keats. I didn't know there was any harm in it, and Ray Major borrowed tuppence from me when my uncle sent me a post-office order. I cashed it at Keats for five bob. But he'll pay me back before the holidays. We didn't know there was anything wrong in it. They waited through hours of this kind of thing, but found no usury, nor anything approaching Beetle's gorgeous scale of interest. The seniors, for the school had no tradition of deference to prefects outside compulsory games, told them succinctly to go about their business. They would not give evidence on any terms. Harrison was one idiot, and Cray was another. But the greatest of all, they said, was their housemaster. When a house is thoroughly upset, however good its conscience, it breaks into knots and cotteries, small gatherings in the twilight, boxroom committees, and groups in the corridor. And when, from group to group, with an immense affectation of secrecy, three wicked boys steal, crying, K.V., when there is no need for caution, and whispering, Don't tell, on the heels of trumpery confidences that instant invented, a very fine air of plot and intrigue can be woven round such a house. At the end of a few days, it dawned on Prout that he moved in an atmosphere of perpetual ambush. Mysteries hedged him on all sides, warnings rammed before his heavy feet, counter-signs were muttered behind his attentive back, McTurk and Storky invented many absurd and idle phrases, catch words that swept through the house's fire through stubble. It was a rare jest. And the only practical outcome of the usury commission, that one boy should say to a friend with awful gravity, Do you think there's much of it going on in the house? The other would reply, Well, one can't be too careful, you know. The effect on a housemaster of humane conscience and good intent may be imagined. Again, a man who has sincerely devoted himself to gaining the esteem of his charges does not like to hear himself described, even at a distance, as popularity proud, by a dark and scowling cult with a fluent tongue. A rumour that stories, unusual stories, are told in the form rooms between the lights, by a boy who does not command his confidence, agitate such a man. And even elaborate and tender politeness, for the courtesy wise-grown men offer to a bewildered child was the courtesy that Storky wrapped round Prout, restores not his peace of mind. The tone of the house seems to have changed, changed for the worse, said Prout to Harrison and Cray. Have you noticed it? I don't for an instant impute. He never imputed anything. But on the other hand, he never did anything else. And with the best intentions in the world, he had reduced the house prefects to a state as near bordering on nervous irritation as healthy boys can know. Worst of all, there began at times to wonder whether Storky and Coe had not some truth in their oft-repeated assertions that Prout was a gloomy ass. As you know, I am not the kind of man who puts himself out for every little thing he hears. I believe in letting the house work out their own salvation, with a light guiding hand on the reins, of course. But there is a perceptible lack of reverence, a lower tone in matters that touch the honour of the house, a sort of hardness. The study door stood ajar, and the song, born by 20 clear voices, came faint from a formrum. The fags rather like the tune. The words were Beatles. That's a thing no sensible man objects to, said Prout with a very lopsided smile. But you know straws show which way the wind blows. Can you trace it to any direct influence? I'm speaking to you now as heads of the house. There isn't at least doubt of it, said Harrison angrily. I know what you mean, sir. It all began when number five study came to form rooms. There's no use blinking it, Cray. You know that, too. They make things rather difficult for us sometimes, said Cray. It's more their manner than anything else that Harrison means. Do they hamper you in the discharge of your duties, then? Well, no, sir. They only look on and grin and turn up their noses generally. Ah, said Prout sympathetically. I think, sir, said Cray, plugging into the business boldly. It would be a great deal better if they were sent back to their study. Better for the house. They are rather old to be knocking about the form rooms. They are younger than Oren or Flint. And it doesn't others I can think of. Yes, sir, but that's different somehow. They're rather influential. They have a lack of upsetting things in a quiet way that one can't take hold of. At least if one does, and you think they would be better in their own study again. Emphatically, Harrison and Cray were of that opinion. As Harrison said to Cray afterwards, they weakened our authority. They're too big to lick, and they've been an exhibition of us over this usury business. We're a laughing stock to the rest of the school. I'm going up, for Sandhurst understood. Next term. They've managed to knock me off half my work already with their lunacy. If they go back to their study, we may have a little peace. Hello, Harrison. McTurk ambled round the corner with a roving eye on all possible horizons. Bear in up, old man. That's right. Live it down. Live it down. What do you mean? You look a little pensive, said McTurk. Exhaust in job, Superintendent, in the honour of the house, ain't it? By the way, how are you off for mayor's nests? Look here, said Harrison, hoping for instant reward. We've recommended Prout to let you go back to your study. There are do's you have. And who under the sun are you to interfere between us and our housemaster? Upon my Sam. You two try us very hard, you do. Indeed. Of course, we don't know how far you abuse your position to prejudice us with Mr. Prout. But when you deliberately stop me to tell me you've been making arrangements behind our back in secret with Prout, I don't know really what we ought to do. That's beastly unfair, cried Cray. It is. McTurk adopted a ghastly solemnity that sat well on his long, lean face. Hang it all. A prefect one thing, and an usher's another. But you seem to combine them. You recommend this, you recommend that. You say how and when we go back to our study. But we thought you'd like it, Turkey, we did indeed. You know you'll be ever so much more comfortable there. Harrison's voice was almost tearful. McTurk turned away as though to hide his emotions. They are broke. He hunted up Storky and Beatle in the box room. They are sick. They've been begging heavy to let us go back to number five. Poor Divils. Poor little Divils. It's an olive branch, was Storky's comment. It's the giddy white flag by gum. Come to think of it, we have metagrobularized them. Just after tea that day, Mr. Prout sent for them. To say that if they chose to ruin their future by neglecting their work, it was entirely their own affair. He wished them, however, to understand that their presence in the formrooms could not be tolerated one hour longer. He personally did not care to think of the time he must spend in eliminating the traces of their evil influences. How far Beatle had pandered to the baser side of youthful imagination, he would ascertain later. And Beatle might be sure that if Mr. Prout came across any soul-corrupting consequences— Consequences of what, sir? said Beatle, genuinely bewildered this time. And McTurk quietly kicked him on the ankle for being fetched by Prout. Beatle, the housemaster continued, knew very well what was intended. Evil and brief had been their careers under his eye, and as one standing in loco parentis, to their yet uncontaminated associates, he was bound to take his precautions. The return of the study-key closed the sermon. But what was that baser side of imagination business? said Beatle on the stairs. I never knew such an ass as you are for justifying yourself, said McTurk. I hope I jelly-well skinned your ankle. Why do you let yourself be drawn by everybody? Doors be blowed. I must have tickled him up in some way I didn't know about. If I'd had a notion of that before, of course I could have rubbed it in better. It's all too late now. What a pity. Baser side. What was he driving at? Never mind, said Storky. I knew we could make it a happy little house. I said so, remember? But I swear I didn't think we'd do it so soon. No, said Proudmost firmly in the common room. I maintain that Gillet is wrong. True, I let them return to their study. With your known views on cribbing, too, perded little heart-top. What an immoral compromise! A one moment, said the Reverend John. I, we, all of us, have exercised an absolutely heart-breaking discretion for the last ten days. Now we want to know. Confess. Have you known a happy minute, since, as regards my house, I have not, said Proud. But you are entirely wrong in your estimate of those boys. Injustice to the others in self-defense. Ha! I said it would become to that, murmured the Reverend John. I was forced to send them back. Their moral influence was unspeakable, simply unspeakable. And, a bit by bit, he told his tale, beginning with Beetle's usury, and ending with the house's prefix appeal. Beetle, in the role of Shylock, is new to me, said King, with twitching lips. I heard rumours of it, before, said Proud. No, after you had dealt with them. But I was careful not to inquire. I never interfered with. I myself, said Hartrop, would cheerfully give him five shillings, if he could work out one simple sum in compound interest, without three gross errors. Why, why, why? said Mason, the mathematical master, stuttering a fierce joy in his face. You've been had, precisely the same as me. And so you led an inquiry. Little Hartop's voice drowned Mason's air. Proud caught the import of the sentence. The boy himself hinted at the existence of a deal of it in the house, said Proud. Yes, he's a past master in that line, said the chaplain. But, as regards the honour of the house, they lowered it in a week. I have striven to build it up for years. My own house prefects, and boys do not willingly complain of each other, besought me to get rid of them. You say you have their confidence, Gillet? They may tell you another tale. As far as I am concerned, they may go to the devil in their own way. I am sick and tired of them, said Proud bitterly. But it was the Reverend John, with a smiling countenance, who went to the devil, just after number five, had cleared away a very pleasant little brew, it cost him two informants, and were settling down to prep. Come in, Padre, come in, said Storky, thrusting forward the best chair. We've only met you official like these last ten days. There you are under sentence, said the Reverend John. I do not consort with malefactors. Are but we are restored again, said MacTurk. Mr. Prout has relented. Without stain on our characters, said Beetle, it was a painful episode, Padre, most painful. And now, consider a while, and propend, mes enfants. It is about your characters that I have called you to-night. In the language of the schools, what the deuce have you been up to, Mr. Prout's house? It isn't anything to laugh over. He says you so lowered the tone of the house that he had to pack you back to your studies. Is that true? Every word of it, Padre, don't be flippant, Turkey, listen to me. I've told you very often that no boys in the school have greater influence for good or evil than you have. You know I don't talk about ethics and moral codes, because I don't believe that the young of the human animal realises what they mean for some years to come. All the same, I don't want to think you've been perverting the juniors. Don't interrupt, Beetle, listen to me. Mr. Prout has a notion that you've been corrupting your associates somehow or other. Mr. Prout has too many notions, Padre, said Beetle, wearily. Which one is this? Well, he tells me that he heard you telling a story in the twilight in the former room in a whisper, and Orrin said, just as he opened the door, Shut up, Beetle, it's too beastly. Now then, you remember Mrs. Oliphant's beleaguered city that you lent me last term? Said Beetle, the Padre nodded. I got the notion out of that. Only instead of a city, I made it the call, in a fog, besieged by ghosts of dead boys, who hauled out chaps out of their beds in the dormitory. All the names are quite real. You tell it in a whisper. You know, with the names. Orrin didn't like it one little bit. None of them availed me finish it. It just gets awful at the end part. But why in the world didn't you explain to Mr. Prout, instead of leaving him under the impression, Padre Saib, said MacTurk? It isn't the least good explaining to Mr. Prout. If he hasn't one impression, he's bound to have another. He'll do it with the best of motives. He's in loco parentis, purred Storky. You young demons! the Reverend John replied. Am I to understand that the usury business was another of your housemaster's impressions? Well, we helped a little in that, said Storky. I did owe Beetle to an forpence. At least Beetle says I did. But I never intended to pay him. But then we started a bit of an argument on the stairs, and then Mr. Prout dropped into it accidental. That was how it was, Padre. He paid me cash down, like a giddy-dook. Stopped it out of my pocket money just the same. And Beetle gave him my note of hand all correct. I don't know what happened after that. I was too truthful, said Beetle. I always am, you see. He's under an impression, Padre. And I suppose I ought to have corrected that impression. But, of course, I couldn't be quite certain that his house wasn't given over to moneylending, could I? I thought the house-prefects might know more about it than I did. They ought to. They're giddy-palladiums of public schools. As they did, too, by the time they'd finished, said MacTurk, as nice a pair of conscientious well-meaning upright, pure-sold boys as you'll ever want to meet, Padre. They turned the house upside down, Harrison and Cray, with the best motives in the world. They said so. They said it, very loud and clear. They went and shouted in our ear, said Storky. My own private impression is that all three of you will infallibly be hanged, said the Reverend John. Why, we didn't do anything, MacTurk replied. It was all, Mr. Prout. Did you ever read a book about Japanese wrestlers? My uncle, he's in the Navy, gave me a beauty once. Don't try to change the subject, Turkey. I'm not, sir. I'm giving an illustration. Same as in his sermon. These wrestler-chaps have got a sort of trick that lets the other chap do all the work. Then they give a little wriggle, and he upsets himself. It's called shibu-witchi, or tokonomo, or something. Mr. Prout, it's a shibu-witchi. It isn't our fault. Did you suppose we went round corrupting the minds of thags, said Beatle. They haven't any to begin with, and if they had, they'd be corrupted long ago. I've been a fag, Padre. Well, I fancied I knew the normal range of your iniquities, but if you take so much trouble to pile up circumstantial evidence against yourselves, you can't blame anyone if we don't blame anyone, Padre. We haven't said a word against Mr. Prout, have we? Storky looked at the others. We love him. He hasn't a notion of how we love him. You disemble your love very well. Have you ever thought, who got you turned out of your study in the first place? It was Mr. Prout turned us out, said Storky with significance. Well, I was that man, I didn't mean it. But some words of mine, I'm afraid, gave Mr. Prout the impression. Number five, laughed aloud. You see, it's just the same with you, Padre, said MacTurk. He is quick to get an impression, ain't he? And you mustn't think we don't love him, because we do. There isn't an ounce of vice about him. A double knock fell on the door. The head to see number five study in his study at once, said the voice of Foxy, the school sergeant. Phew! said the Reverend John. It seems to me that there is a great deal of trouble coming for some people. My word! Mr. Prout's gone and told the head, said Storky. He's a moral double-ender, not fair, lugging the head into a house-route. I should recommend a copy-book on, uh, safe and certain part, said the Reverend John, disinterestedly. Huh! he licks across the shoulders, and it would slam like a beastly barn door, said Beatle. Good night, Padre, we're all in for it. Once more they stood in the presence of the head. Belial, Mammon and Lucifer. But they had to deal with a man more subtle than them all. Mr. Prout had talked to him heavily and sadly for half an hour, and the head had seen all that was hidden from the house-master. You've been bothering Mr. Prout, he said pensively. House-masters aren't here to be bothered by boys more than is necessary. I don't like being bothered by these things. You are bothering me. That is a very serious offence. You see it? Yes, sir. Well now, I propose to bother you on personal and private grounds, because you have broken into my time. You are much too big to lick, so I suppose I shall have to mark my displeasure in some other way. Say a thousand lines a piece, a week's gating, and a few things of that kind. Much too big to lick, aren't you? No, sir. Said Storky cheerfully, for a week's gating in the summer term is serious. Very good. Then we will do what we can. I wish you wouldn't bother me. It was a fair, sustained, equitable stroke. With a little draw to it. But what they felt was his unfairness in stopping to talk between executions. Thus, among the lower classes, this would lay me open to a charge of assault. You should be more grateful for your privileges than you are. There is a limit. One finds it by experience, people, beyond which it is never safe to pursue private vendettas because, don't move, sooner or later one comes into collision with the higher authority, who has studied the animal. Ed Ego, McTurk, please, in Arcadia, VIXI. There is a certain flagrant injustice about this that ought to appeal to your temperament. And that's all. You will tell your housemaster that you have been formally caned by me. My word, said McTurk, wriggling his shoulder blades all down the corridor. That was business. The Pouchan Bates has an infernal straight eye. Wasn't it wily of me to ask for the licking, said Storky, instead of those impo's? Rot, we were in it for it from the first. I knew from the look in his old eye, said Beatle. I was within an inch of blubbing. Well, I didn't exactly smile, Storky confessed. Let's go down to the laboratory and have a look at the damage. One of us can hold glass, and others can squint. They proceeded on these lines for some ten minutes. The whales were very rare and very level. There was not a penny to choose between any of them for thoroughness, efficiency, and a certain clarity of outline that stamps the work of an artist. What are you doing down there? Mr. Prout was at the head of the laboratory stairs, attracted by the noise of splashing. We've only been cane by the head, sir, and we're washing off the blood. The head said we were to tell you. We were coming to report ourselves in a minute, sir. Sotto voce. That's a score for Heffy. Well, he deserves to score something, poor devil, said MacTurk, putting on his shirt. We've sweated a stone and a half off him since we began. But look here. Why aren't we rothy with the head? He said it was a flagrant injustice, so it is, said Beatle. Dear man, said MacTurk, and vouchsafe, no further answer. He was stalky, who laughed till he had to hold on by the edge of a basin. You are a funny ass. What's that for? said Beatle. I'm thinking of the flagrant injustice of it. End of chapter four.